


can't help it if i wanna kiss you.

by whisper57



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, POV Second Person, Season/Series 02, it's about That scene in the dugouts, uppercase? i don't know her.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27249124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisper57/pseuds/whisper57
Summary: mickey really, really wants to kiss ian.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 18
Kudos: 90





	can't help it if i wanna kiss you.

**Author's Note:**

> this? self-serving garbage that shouldn't have been put out into the world. but i love to torture people. :')

there’s him, standing there, talking and talking and talking. and there’s you, standing in front of him, feeling like you’re burning up. burning up because its hot; it’s so, so hot, and his skin is shiny with sweat and you know yours is too, and the lights reflect off his skin, and you’re both alone here. alone alone alone. you’re burning up, but it isn’t because you’re out in the summer heat. no, you’re burning up because he’s right there in front of you, talking talking talking, and you want to kiss him.

you want to kiss him. you _need_ to kiss him.

there’s all this _need_ inside of you. but you don’t know what for. or maybe you _do_ know, maybe you know _exactly_ what you need. on worse than usual days, when you lay in bed at night and stare at the ceiling, and your father’s screams are still echoing in your ears, and the sounds of the southside drift in from your bedroom window—a car backfiring, shouts of people fighting, bottles breaking, police sirens, loud music, just noise noise _noise_ —you feel this _need_ to just _not be here_. you feel the need to just fucking run away; somewhere, anywhere. somewhere, anywhere, because _anywhere_ would be better than where you are, right now.

on days when you somehow fail to keep everything you don’t want to think about in locked boxes; when, somehow, the boxes open and things come tumbling out and you’re too slow to stuff them back in far, far away, you think about your mother. you think about your mother and the needles that took her away from you, and you feel this _need_ to be with her. you feel the need to hear her say your name, at least one more time. you know this won’t change anything about anything, but that need stays and you miss your mother and you want to cry. but you don’t, because that’s something you can’t allow yourself to do. sometimes you think of your sister and how much you can’t protect her, and you feel the need to take her somewhere better and run away.

sometimes you think of yourself and how much you have to hide and how so many people don’t and you think of your father and you think of where you live and you think of the fear inside you that suffocates you and you feel the _need_ to not be yourself. to so desperately not be mikhailo aleksandr milkovich. to be someone else, to be _anyone else_ , and then _breathe_ for a second. breathe because sometimes you think that you can’t draw in enough breath; because sometimes you feel too big for your body and you feel like the walls are closing in around you—your father, your fear, who you are, who you wish wish _wish_ you could be—and you just want to _breathe_ for one fucking second like everyone else seems to be able to, but not you. never you.

there’s all that need, and then there’s this: this burning sensation that spreads throughout you and fills your brain with one thought _kiss him kiss him kiss him_.

but that’s just ian gallagher, you think. that’s just ian gallagher and him reducing you to this… to this _thing_ that just wants to be closer closer _closer_ until there’s no you. or no, until there _is_ you, but just as a part of ian gallagher. until you’re just a part of ian gallagher’s being like his smile and his laugh and his green green eyes and his bright, _bright_ red hair that sometimes looks like its on fire and you think it’s perfect then because whenever you’re with him you think you’re aflame.

you think ian gallagher is fire and you want to touch touch touch him until he reduces you to ashes.

that’s just ian gallagher and him taking away everything that seems sensible to you and only leaving behind these stupid, stupid thoughts and these stupid, _stupid_ feelings and this ache and want and need in you to just _be_ with him and forget everything else.

he’s talking and you don’t understand how he _doesn’t get it_. how he doesn’t see it on your face what you want because you feel like it’s written all over your face: _kiss me you idiot. i want you to kiss me. i’ll let you. i won’t cut your fucking tongue out, just fucking_ kiss _me_.

he’s there and you feel all this need and you’re so tired of needing and not getting and you think _fuck it_ and grab the front of his shirt until it’s twisted in your fist.

he _finally_ stops talking and looks at you, but you don’t look back. you don’t look back because you’re looking at your hand on his chest and you think it’s too intimate and you hate it, but you love it too, so it stays there. it stays there and you can feel his heartbeat quickening and you finally look up and he’s looking back at you with fear and surprise and hope and anticipation.

 _there’s so much hope_.

you take a tiny step back until your back is firmly against the fence and you pull him closer and then you tilt your face up towards his, and he still looks so scared like he doesn’t want to let himself hope, but still is.

you pull him in closer and and he moves his head down towards you and quietly says _Mickey_ and you think you might love him, but you can’t think about that now, so you kiss him.

once, softly. and another time, and then another and that’s when he finally kisses back, just as softly. _it’s fucking chaste_ , you think and you think _i like it_ and you think he likes it too.

you kiss him one more time and then another and then another. then you pull away and he slowly opens his eyes and looks at you with so much _awe_ and something else that you’re scared of but you like, too, and you finally release his shirt and smooth it over, once, and say:

‘had to fuckin’ shut you up,’ and you can hear the happiness in your voice and you know he can hear it too, and it doesn’t bother you.

he grins and lets out this little giddy laugh and backs you up against the fence and kisses you again.

he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you and you’re happy.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry. i don't know what this is. as usual.


End file.
